


Hey Can I Borrow Your Yellow Lighter?

by indevan



Series: Yellow Lighter [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Child Abuse, Fluff, M/M, Underage Smoking, mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hayama has a crush.  Mibuchi thinks it's cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Can I Borrow Your Yellow Lighter?

**Author's Note:**

> writes a niche pairing using lyrics from a song by a niche band. the song in question is: "yellow lighter" by japanther

Spy work, like everything else, is best done with a partner.  True, movies tend to say otherwise but when James Bond is shackled to a table with a laser approaching his crotch, Hayama figures that he’s probably glad that, if need be, he could call Q or M or one of the Bond babes to bail him out.

“You know this is stalking right?”

On the other hand, having a partner isn’t always good.  Hayama gives Mibuchi a dirty look.

“It is not.”

He flicks some dark hair from his eyes and lets his lips curl up slightly.

“We’re crouched behind a bush watching your crush.  If this isn’t stalking, what is it?”

About five hundred responses travel through Hayama’s head but he can’t focus on one.  Instead, his eyes zero in on the slope of Mibuchi’s neck.

“You’ve got a love bite.”

He wrinkles his nose and slaps his hand to cover the incriminating mark.  His arm lifted the way it is, he sees the yellow-purple bruises on the inside of his forearm.  No one on the team really talks about it but those bruises are why Mibuchi’s been staying at Nebuya’s house rather than his own.  He remembers that day in the locker room, watching him wrap Mibuchi up in his arms and saying, “Next time she tries smacking you around, you’re staying with me.”  Hayama’s never met Mibuchi’s mom--just heard his excuses for her.  “My dad is gone” or “she freaks out when she sees me with guys because she thinks they’ll be like him.”  Hayama doesn’t like it but he likes that his teammate has a boyfriend to take him away from it--which is made doubly better since Nebuya’s parents are pretty much the nicest people on the planet.

That, though, is a distraction from their goal.  Hayama knocks himself on the head a little to focus on the task at hand.

“Anyway, he’s with his friends.  I can’t just walk up...it’ll be weird.”

“And watching them from the bushes isn’t?” Mibuchi turns around and stretches his legs in front of them. “I’m getting a cramp.”

He rubs his knees and pouts.  Hayama has chosen Mibuchi for his spying partner since the only other option is Nebuya who is not really suited to espionage.  Mayuzumi is the best option but he wouldn’t say yes--not to mention that he’s retired from the team.  Akashi has been too busy reconnecting with his middle school friends and, honestly, Hayama doesn’t talk to anyone else.

“Are we going out tonight?” Mibuchi asks and stifles a yawn.

“Yeah, think so.”

He’s distracting him and, really, he’s starting to doubt Mibuchi’s commitment to this mission.

“He’s leaving!” Hayama hisses, smacking his friend on the shoulder.  This gets no response so he turns and nuzzles his forehead against his neck, whining, “Reo-nee!!”

“Let him,” he says back, imitating Hayama’s tone. “If you aren’t going to talk to him, we’re just committing a minor crime.”

He pouts and Mibuchi manages to ignore its potency with a lift of his perfectly sculpted nose.  He does, though, have a point and Hayama slumps, defeated.

“Fine.” He perks up and grins. “Next time I’ll talk to him.  Break the ice before he can freeze me out--think he’ll like that one?  That joke?”

Mibuchi looks at him and closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

“I suppose, Kota-chan.”

\--

On some level, Hayama thinks that the bartender knows that their IDs are fake but he never says anything.  They come here almost every week so he probably overlooks it in favor of taking their money.  It’s better than parties their schoolmates throw.  At the last one, Hayama had made his way through JELL-O shots, trying to find a lemon flavor.  His search turned up pineapple, durian, jackfruit, and even banana but no lemon.  By the time he’d hit this lemonless realization, he was beyond gone.

Having to pay for alcohol keeps the night from turning south.  Even so, being inside with the music and sweaty, closed in bodies is verging on sensory overload.  Mibuchi and Nebuya are somewhere in that sweaty mass of people, dancing together.  At first, he felt left out when they got together.  They were the three Uncrowned Kings that stayed together.  Then they got together and where did that leave Hayama?  It’s easier now.  He gets to embarrass them when they get affectionate in public by making kissy faces at them both.

He avoids the eyes on him and bounces outside to smoke.  He knows Mibuchi hates his habit and he doesn’t want Akashi to know.  He’s an athlete and supposed to be above such things.  Still, it calms him in a way nothing else does.

He fishes around his pockets for a cigarette until he finds one floating around under his phone.  Another search makes him come to a most unfortunate realization: he has no lighter.  He stares at the cigarette clutched in his fingers with a growing sense of despair.  His jittery nerves seem to follow suit, jittering and jiving, thrumming against his skin.

He hears a click next to him and the smell of butane fills the air.  He catches a flickering orange circle out of the corner of his eye and turns, freezes.  Standing there lighting a cigarette is Izuki Shun.  The same Izuki Shun he watched from the bushes that afternoon, trying to find the courage to speak to him, hours from home and in Hayama’s neighborhood.  He stands next to him, cupping his hand over the flame.  Hayama stares at it, the yellow plastic is almost see through and he can see the lighter fluid.

“Can I borrow a light?”

The words are out before he can stop them and Izuki looks up, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.  It dips forward, the blazing end almost grazing his chin.  He purses his lips to keep it from burning him and nods.  Izuki clicks the lighter and holds out the flame for Hayama to light up.  He smiles around it in thanks and tries to concentrate on his cigarette rather than his nerves.  Izuki’s hand is so close to his, his fingers touching his chin gently.  They stand there silently for a moment, both smoking.  Izuki pulls it from his mouth and flicks ash onto the sidewalk.

“What’s Akashi think about smoking?” he asks him. “I bet he gets smoked up.”

“I think it’s steamed,” Hayama says. “And he doesn’t know.  What’s your coach say?”

“I’d say she doesn’t know but I’m sure she does.” He grins.

Hayama smokes greedily to calm his nerves and tries to forget that this is his only cigarette.  This is the first time he and Izuki have been alone and he is shaking.  He’s been nursing a crush since the Winter Cup and now fate has brought them together outside a bar, smoking cigarettes.

“I didn’t know you came here,” he says to try and keep the conversation going.  The static in his head is starting to subside and he can think, almost.

“We don’t usually--Kiyoshi heard of it so here we are.  Taking the train all the way to a bar in Kyoto--you can’t say no to that big guy, though.  He’s got too much heart.”

He pictures Kiyoshi Ironheart in his head.  Strong, big, thick eyebrows.  Him finding a bar?  Having a fake ID?  Or not--there’s no check at the door and they might not be drinking.

“Who’s we?” he asks instead but he has a feeling he knows.

Izuki gestures inside and blows smoke out through his nose. “You know…”

Hayama nods, sucking on the end with gusto.  He stops to exhale and smiles awkwardly.  His cigarette is a stub and he drops the butt to the ground.  He stares at it for a moment, a feeling of inexplicable sadness washing over him.  Izuki reaches into his pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes.

“Here.  I know the look of someone who just lost their last cigarette.” He passes the lighter over as well.

Hayama cups it and lights the end.  Izuki’s taste different from his but he savors the taste because it’s his and, yes, this is definitely a crush.

“There you are!”

Hayama turns and sees Mibuchi standing in the doorway.  He’s brushing sweaty hair from his eyes and smiling in that mysterious model-gorgeous way of his.  Hayama sees Izuki looking at him and is glad that Mibuchi is taken.  His pants are scandalously tight and low and his button-up shirt is tight and silky.  The bottom two buttons are undone, leaving a triangle of pale skin exposed.

“Reo-nee, always chasing after me,” he says and pouts.

“Someone has to.” He tips his head to the side and smiles at Izuki in a way that’s almost flirtatious. “Hi.”

Izuki waves with his whole hand, not his fingers, and Hayama takes that as a good sign.  Mibuchi is often on the end of finger-wiggle waves.  They’re usually from older men who see him with his skinny hips and tight clothes and think they can have him.

“You find him?”

Nebuya exits the club, puts thick arms around Mibuchi’s waist.  He closes his eyes and leans into the embrace and Hayama watches, his cigarette burning down in his fingers.  He flicks his gaze to Izuki who shakes his head so the shadows and his fringe hides his eyes.  He puts his cigarette out on the wall of the bar and smiles.

“I should head back in--or someone will head out.”

It’s a weak joke, even for him but Hayama smiles nonetheless.  He watches him go inside and drops the still lit cigarette to the sidewalk.

“Don’t litter,” Mibuchi says but his tone is not at all authoritative.  He looks content in Nebuya’s arms and both of them look glazed, drunk.  Nebuya is kissing his neck and they don’t seem to care that they’re in public.

“Let’s go,” he says and he feels the jitters returning, thrumming his nerves.

It’s not until he’s home does he realize that he’s still holding Izuki’s lighter.

\--

Throughout the week, Hayama doesn’t smoke.  He has no cigarettes, of course, and he thinks using his fake ID twice in one week is asking for trouble.  He flicks the lighter on, smells the flame.  It’s cheap and plastic, easily replaceable.  Izuki’s probably got another one already so he can smoke his Seven Stars in peace.  Still, he holds onto it to maybe give it to him again.

“Pyro, pyro,” Mibuchi says and plucks it from his hand one day after practice.

Hayama reaches for it and he holds it up high, teasing.

“Give it!  It’s Izuki’s!”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You stole his lighter?  First stalking and now this?  Kota-chan!”

He feels himself flush and he jumps to grab it from Mibuchi’s hand.

“I didn’t steal it!  He forgot it.  I’m gonna give it back when I see him next.”

He puts it in his pocket and pouts.  Mibuchi puts his hands on his hips and smirks.  A hand-shaped bruise wraps around his upper arm, the fingerprints narrow and delicate.

“You went home,” he says.

He looks away and puts his hand over his arm.  It isn’t good-natured embarrassment like with the hickies on his neck.  It’s shame.

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” he says. “Eikichi came with me to get some stuff and she didn’t want me to leave.”

“Reo-nee…”

It’s hard to talk about this but he’s selfishly glad that they’re off of his crush.

“She just freaks out,” he insists. “Anyway, we had a fight about it.”

He glances across the locker room where Nebuya is tossing his dirty towels into the growing ecosystem that is his locker.

“Why?”

“I wanted to go back.”

He whips his head back around so hard it hurts.

“Reo-nee, no!”

“If I just come home…”

Hayama feels for him, really, but he hates his mother.  Hates his father, too, for doing this to her.  For leaving and sporadically coming back when his girlfriends leave him.

“Stop.”

He takes him by the arm not bruised and steers him out of the locker room.  Akashi looks at them as they exit but his gaze flicks back to his bag.  He knows, probably--definitely.

“You can’t do that,” he says once they’re outside.

“That’s what Eikichi said.”

“I wonder why.”

He puffs air out of his lips and folds his arms over his chest.

“I feel bad.  Eikichi’s parents let me stay there for free.  They won’t even let me kick in for food...and my mom, she misses me.  It’ll be different.”

It won’t be and he thinks Mibuchi knows that.

“Reo-nee…” He shakes his head. “You went home and she grabs you so hard she bruises you to get you to stay.”

“When you put it that way…”

He glances past him back into the locker room.

“I should go talk to Eikichi…”

“Yes you should.”

\--

He’s skateboarding in the park when he sees Izuki again.  He comes here a lot, he thinks.  It’s odd because he’s by himself.  It’s hours long by train.  Hayama skids to a stop in front of him and raises his brows.

“Do you ever go home?” he asks.

Izuki smiles and looks like Mr. Shy Guy all of a sudden.  Hayama rubs the nape of his neck and breathes in deeply through his nose.

“I have your lighter,” he says awkwardly.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out.  Izuki stares at it and, right, he probably forgot.  Probably replaced it.

“Illuminating,” he says finally and Hayama laughs loudly.

Izuki’s hand closes over it and the brief, skin-on-skin contact makes his skin itch.

“You know,” he says, speaking slowly. “I’ve been coming here for you.’

“Huh?”

Izuki flushes, licks his lips, and continues.

“It wasn’t Kiyoshi’s idea--the bar.  It was mine.  I didn’t know you’d be there but I’d kinda hoped.  You’re...weird.  But so am I.  So I wanted to spend more time with you.”

He’s holding the lighter loosely in his hand and Hayama tries to regulate his breathing.  His heart is hammering and his nerves thrum.  His mind is shifting a million times at once and he’s finding it hard to concentrate.  He moves his foot to roll his skateboard back and forth.

“O-oh.”

“Yeah...is that coming on too strong?  I’ve never done this before.”

Hayama shakes his head.  He declines to mention the hiding/watching in the bushes expedition from a few days ago.

“No, it’s not.  I like...you too.”

Hayama isn’t expecting this.  He feels himself start to sweat, the nerves prickling the back of his neck.  Izuki smiles at him a little and he wonders if he’s going to kiss him.  He hasn’t thought that far into this crush or even this conversation.

“Want me to teach you to skateboard?”

Izuki looks relieved and he nods. “Sure.  I hope I don’t get bored.”

\--

Mibuchi looks pleased with himself.

“You have a boyfriend,” he says smugly.

“Long distance.”

“Not that long.”

He is downright gloating.  Hayama isn’t sure why, really, but Mibuchi looks happier.  He doesn’t see any new bruises, at least.  He notices him looking.

“I haven’t been home,” he says. “I told my mom if she wants to talk to me she can mail me.”

Hayama raises his brows, impressed.  He hasn’t been bothering him about it lately.  He figures if someone can talk to him it’s Nebuya and he guesses that he’s right.  There are no new bruises but new hickies.

“Have you kissed yet?”

Hayama nods. “Yeah.  When I took him to the station, he kissed me.  And gave me this.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out Izuki’s yellow lighter.  Mibuchi puts a hand over his heart as if to say “isn’t it romantic?”  Hayama’s glad Nebuya isn’t here because he’d be making revolting kissy-faces like Hayama does to them when they kiss.

“Come off it,” he says and bats the air in embarrassment.

“When he comes here, we can double date.”

His eyes go wide and he feels the prickles at the back of his neck.

“Reo-nee!”

The only response he gets is a lilting, lyrical laugh.

 


End file.
